


Ineffably In Love

by Yass_Rani



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Help i do not believe i wrote this, M/M, good omens - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:28:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22986367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yass_Rani/pseuds/Yass_Rani
Summary: It's ineffable, I cannot summarize any of this. I cannot summarize their story, their experiences, their love and their passion in a suitable way but I've tried my best
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for choosing to read this, please leave kudos and comments and tell me anything you want to! :)

It had been over 6,000 years since they first met, but Crowley still got butterflies every time the angel smiled. Or laughed. Or just spoke about his day. Heaven, he was smitten. The demon loved every little thing about the angel, his awkward smile, his blessed snark, the way he wiggled all over when he laughed, the way he sat so primly, his obsession with books, his elegant little hands that never seemed to sit still, his ridiculously tempting pout and his stupid tantrums about the simplest of things.

Currently, he was completely enamored with the Principality of Eden as they dined at the Ritz – Or rather, the demon simply watched as Azirapahle dined, occasionally miracling tiny inconveniences for the humans around them, especially that one particularly stupid waiter who brushed past them muttering a string of quite pointed slurs that Crowley felt rather angry about. For those wanting to know what he did, for science, of course, the waiter was currently being given a thorough talking to for messing up the vegan couple’s order with meat.

Said angel, however, was oblivious to it as he sat there, delicately picking at his second round of dessert, a particularly overpriced little piece of cake, as Crowley once said – even though he didn’t mind emptying the entirety of London's bank accounts along with his own for anything Aziraphale might ask for – and rambling on about the time he met Mozart who played him a piece of music he rather liked, and of course, when it became the most famous piece of the century through quite miraculous events, and as a thank you, he’d composed another piece exclusively for Aziraphale, played it only once for him and never again, and how he rather missed it.

Coming back to Crowley, who was now quite interested in Aziraphale’s hand on the table, his fingers loosely held in a relaxed fist, his wrist unconsciously moving as he enthusiastically rambled about something or the other.   
Crowley had zoned out for a bit, and he was thinking less about how the angel would react if he accidentally touched his hand, and rather more about how it would feel to the demon himself, holding hands with the angel. Would it hurt? Would it feel good? Would it prompt a punch from said angel? Anyways, a thought for later.

Dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, Aziraphale signaled to the waiter to get their bill – or rather, just his; Crowley never ate unless the angel insisted he try something – which Crowley paid off with a wave of his hand and stood up to leave, as the angel left a hundred more dollars on the tip. 

Of course he did, the angel loved his food more than anything. They walked to the Bentley, Crowley waited for Aziraphale to put his belt on and without a moment’s notice sped to the streets, prompting the usual panicked screech from the usually composed angel. 

“Come in for a drink, dear?” Aziraphale said more than asked, to which Crowley happily obliged. This had been their routine since the past few weeks. Crowley inconveniencing humans all day, Aziraphale taking care of his bookshop, a bit of aggressive plant tending before the angel was picked up at the bookshop to go to dinner, and then having a drink back at the bookshop. 

This night wasn’t any different either. Crowley poured the wine, Aziraphale put on his blessed classical records, Crowley rambled about all the inconveniencing he did, and Aziraphale secretly snapped his fingers at each comment and a lot of annoyed, tired people suddenly found themselves drifting off to some good dreamland.   
The clock struck twelve, Crowley, as usual, started to wrap things up, because the longer he stayed, the harder it was to not go up to the drunk angel and confess his undying love for him. 

Like every other night, Crowley was the first to excuse himself.   
Like every night, Aziraphale tried to get him to stay.   
Like every night, Crowley inferred that the angel was drunk and thus, left to his flat anyway, his Bentley blasting Queen on full volume, exactly like every night since the Armaggedon-that-almost-happened.

And like every night, an angel and a demon broke a little, questioned themselves, each other, wondering what might have been, what if, just, maybe, if, they’d have done something. 

Like every night, two immortal beings in Soho contemplated, well, everything. 

“I only ever asked questions”

“I could’ve asked him to stay longer”

“I should’ve invited him to my flat”

“I shouldn’t have let him go”

“What if I call him back?”

“What if I go back?”

“What if upstairs found out?”

“I like him, but does he feel the same?”

“Am I allowed to like him?”

“What if he just loves me like all of God’s creations?”

“What if…”

“What if…”


	2. Chapter 2

“Angel!”

The call rang out in the small, old bookshop as Crowley sauntered in with a bottle of very expensive wine – bit more than the usual expensive – and a gift he didn’t intend on telling Aziraphale he got it only after tempting a few humans to eternal damnation and a whole lot of covering up for all the miracles he did to acquire the rare thing.

“Why the heaven is this so hard to get?!” he’d shouted at the man he found it with. Well, after terrifying the living daylights out of the poor guy.

“Oh hello, dear.”

_Dear. Dear?? Really? Every single time you call me that…_

“Are you quite alright, dear boy?” “I.. Uh.. Yeah of course I’m fine.

Anyway, happy anniversary on the shop, Angel.” He replied after the small mental block he had, as usual, at a lot of things Aziraphale did, handing him the wine and the gift. Aziraphale, of course, took one look at the package and set the bottle of wine aside for later, obviously more excited at the gift.

His face lit up as he looked at the package in his hands and then looked at Crowley, looking like a happy little puppy who just got its favourite treat in the whole world. Which of course made Crowley bite his tongue to stop himself from melting at the adorable expression.

You’d have thought it was impossible for Aziraphale to light up more, but as he opened the brown packaging, revealing a vinyl record, his expression grew tenfold the moment he saw Mozart written in fancy font on the label of the record.

“Oh dear, this is wonderful! Thank you so much, Crowley.”

“Ah, shut it.” To which Aziraphale simply smiled, used to the demon’s tantrums at any implication of the goodness in the things he did.

“May I ask which of Mozart’s pieces is this? He was a dear friend, good man.”

“Why don’t you play it and see, angel.” Came the reply.

Crowley was smirking, but on the inside, he was terrified of anything that might go wrong.

The angel went over to his antique gramophone, set it up and put the record on, naming every record of Mozart he had acquired over the years.

As the first notes wafted out of the gramophone, Aziraphale let out a tiny, strangled cry of recognition.

Why, this was the piece he was talking about last week at the Ritz. The one that Mozart had composed only for him and never played it anywhere else, as far as he knew.

“Oh good lord, Crowley, dear, how…?”

“Eh, turns out he played it once before he finally showed you and someone recorded it, the doctor, I think he said his name was. Strange guy.”

“Oh dear, this is wonderful, thank you so much! I never thought I would listen to this again!”

“Come on angel, stop. Just a small gift.”

_No don’t stop! Tell me you like it, angel._

_Please._

_Talk for hours about each note and I’ll stay, I’ll listen to you._

The rest was usual; drinking, fighting over what to listen to - Queen or classical music – Of course, Crowley gave up when Aziraphale decided to make puppy eyes. Unfair bastard.


	3. Chapter 3

New year’s was always a lonely time for Crowley. Of course, all the lights and festivities made him sick, but that wasn’t the matter. The real issue was his Fall. He’d fallen before the creation of days of course, but it was somwehere around this time of the year, and he’d have panic attacks and remember everything before the fall.

Through the millennia, he’d been accustomed to staying home and looking up at the stars - _His stars­_ – and drinking and sobbing. He also sometimes drew around in the Bentley with more ferocity than usual.

This year however, he did take out a bottle of whiskey to drown himself in, hissing at his poor plants all the time, of course, when his telephone rang.

His telephone rang.

It never did. Unless it was Aziraphale or one of those annoying credit card companies. He hoped it was the former, simultaneously hoping it was not Aziraphale; wouldn’t be good to have a mental breakdown when he’s around.

“Hello. Crowley.”

“Oh I know, dear. I was wondering if you’d come over for dinner and a drink?” came the reply.

 _Why, Aziraphale?_. Unspoken, of course. Crowley never questions the angel. Well, except for when he does his magic shows.

“Uh.. mm I-”

“Well since it’s new year in a few hours and we’re not specific surveillance, I thought we could enjoy the festivities for once. Oh dear, I should’ve considered you don’t like it, Oh I’m so sorry Crow-”

“Angel- Angel stop talking. Of course I’ll come. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“But it takes thirty minutes to drive from your place-”

“Exactly. I’ll be there in ten.”

This new years’eve was well spent. Drinking the best wine, listening to both Queen and classical music, talking about their time on Earth, laughing about shared moments, jokes and Shakespeare.

The two beings talked a lot. They also left a lot unsaid, something both of them understood. Various versions of ‘You mean so much to me’, ‘You’re my best friend’, ‘Thank you’, ‘Sorry’.

Muted ‘You’re wonderful’s and silenced ‘I love you’s hung in the air, adding to the joy of the night.

Crowley was finally at ease for once. Chatting about Aziraphale with their time together made him accept the fall. After all, what were the chances he’s meet this wonderful principality if he was still an Archangel.

Aziraphale felt confident too. For once, he wasn’t being watched. He wasn’t being constantly judged. He wasn’t expected. He was free. Able to choose for himself. And this realisation hit him quicker than it hit Crowley, who was currently being showered with love by the angel, even though he couldn’t feel it.

They were five feet apart, Crowley lounging on the couch, Aziraphale perched on the sofa, slowly setting his glass aside, standing up.

Crowley sat up, confused as to what was going on.

“What is it, angel?”

To which the celestial being simply shook his head and walked over to the couch.

To which Crowley’s heart, even though it was threatened into staying still around the angel, started frantically beating.

He sat beside Crowley. The closest they’d been in, well, forever. Crowley’s breath hitched as Aziraphale moved closer, searching for signs of discomfort on the demon’s face, and when he saw none, and there was a silent question in the air between them, answered with a silent consent - a soft sigh from Crowley as Aziraphale pressed his lips against Crowley’s. Soft, loving. Unspoken feelings exchanged between them from years of knowing each other as they pulled back.

“Happy new year,” both of them said simultaneously, the gramophone only adding to the mood, softly wafting out tunes.

“Everything’s alright, just hold on tight, that’s because I’m a good old fashioned lover boy.”

Crowley smirked at that, as he leaned in for another kiss.

Both of them knew, they were at last, free and more importantly, they can be _together._

“To the world,” Aziraphale said, smiling at Crowley. _His_ world. Crowley.

“To the world,” Crowley echoed. _His_ world. Aziraphale.


End file.
